Pride
by walkingdisastersharkchild
Summary: ONE-SHOT. When an opportunity presented itself, he had never been one to deny it life. Irving-centric


**I always thought Irving taught his apprentice more than how to cast magic. I mean, he is one cunning bastard. I do admire him for that. This grew from that belief. **

(And with my mage, Gwynaeth, though I don't actually mention her name)**  
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**Read, enjoy (or not) and review please.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Dragon Age, I would have to do all my own voice-overs. That would be **_**lame**_**.**

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><p>He sat back in his chair, eyebrows knitting together at the sight of the apprentice before him. She was a spirited one, there was no denying it. She was pulling her arms out of Templar grips with much effort, letting her mouth run when they managed to contain the offending limbs. And then it happened again, a never ending circle of struggle. How poetic that it seemed to reflect what happened between Templar and Mage, except demons were more involved than teenage girls with attitude problems.<p>

In front of him sat a list of every mentor she had had upon arrival. A most impressive list for any mage who wished to achieve a certain greatness and renown amongst the people. Had the mentors _taught_ her anything, of course. From the numerous complaints, she had the _slightest_ tendency to "shoot off her mouth", not appear for lessons and burn robes. Even the mention of cursing objects was next to a name. That was quite a surprise, to be honest. He hadn't thought she would know how to curse, as she didn't seem to respond to _any_ kind of training.

Well, other than to verbally curse, of course, as she had proven that she had that ability accomplished.

Although, he had to admit, he was impressed.

He remembered when she had first arrived, drenched from the waters of Lake Calenhad. He had learnt that when whoever had left her had begun sailing away, she had started screaming. Ultimately at five years of age, her power overwhelmed her, and the rickety docks collapsed beneath the pressure. The Templars had not been impressed when they had to jump in after her.

Now, at sixteen, with little options before her as the threats of maleficar hung over her head, she wasn't making her case any better. With her string of mentors and constant struggling against the Templars, he couldn't really blame her. The girl probably had no idea what was actually in store for her if she acted out once more. Or even in a few minutes if he couldn't think of something. _It is always over my head, isn't it?_ Irving thought.

"Let her go."

"I will let her go when you have a proper solution, Irving!"

Irving let himself sigh with definite impatience. Greagoir was present, still fuming from the amount of freedom the young apprentice had. He had been the one to suggest Tranquility, an option that had been followed swiftly by death. Her going through the Harrowing was never on the table. Greagoir did not want to run the risk of having her as a harrowed mage running about and getting away with more than was allowed. That was the Knight-Commander's wording, of course. Irving would have she would have a definite learning experience once having to hold duties of mages.

It would be such a waste of talent, there was no denying it. For some reason unbeknownst to him, all their most talented apprentices had the slightest tendency to attempt escape or act out. One was currently sitting in the lower chambers of the Tower, three days left of his week-long isolation. Many had actually made it out, or had perished beneath Templar swords. Those people were, of course, the ones who knew what threats were at their throat if they spoke against the Chantry once more, and did to get a reaction and _make_ a reaction. The ones left in the Tower ... It was a true tragedy, and an option to change that had presented itself.

Well, he hadn't had an apprentice in a long time. And he saw no other way of defending her once she left his study.

"I will take this young lady under my wing." He sounded like he had resigned himself to this fate. He had, in a way, as she hadn't shown the determination to become a better mage. He would curb that attitude, naturally.

"You can't do that!"

"You have got to be kidding me!"

Both complaints clashed, and Irving just raised an eyebrow. "I can, and I will. Much better if she learns the true way to use her magic, do you not agree, Greagoir?"

The Knight-Commander protested, but already the Templars released the apprentice. She huffed and flicked her fringe out of her eyes, not at all pleased that Irving had just saved her life. If anything, it seemed to irritate her more. He raised his eyebrows at this revelation, and the curses falling from her mouth. He would change that too. There were certain things young ladies should not say, and she had said almost every one of them. At least she didn't say the Maker's name in vain. Greagoir would have loped her head off without a thought.

The Templars left with many complaints, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "First Enchanter, you have obviously seen my _past performances_ -"

"Most _impressive_ for one so young."

"So, whatever foolish idea you have gotten into your head that I will listen, you are wrong." She poked her own temple for emphasis.

"What if we do things your way? Would that suit you better than having an old man telling you right or wrong?"

Her arguments stopped short, a hand still raised. "Are you being serious?"

She sounded vaguely hopeful. The last person to say her that had deceived her. To say she was angry would be lying. She had been _livid_, and had cursed several of the man's personal belongings. She was fairly sure that the piece of paper in front of him detailed such an event, not that she minded. If she scared the First Enchanter even a little, she would die a happy girl.

"Absolutely."

A grin settled its way onto her lips and she hitched a thumb at herself. "I am a Primal student."

"So I have heard." And he had heard. Very loudly at dinner with the men and women who had their robes burnt and noses frozen.

"And I will not set a toe into Creation, if you don't mind. Healing another has never been my strong point."

"Considering your failure of Herbalism, this offers little surprise."

She laughed, hands on her hips, pleased with his blunt reply. Old men who jittered around truths held little interest for her. "You know, past the old man, you aren't too bad, First Enchanter. May a wonderful apprenticeship last between us."

Irving just smiled in response.

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><p>A year and a half later, she was standing before him, newly harrowed and with the glint in her eye he knew all about. In her training, they had done more than fling spells around a room. He had taught her respect, how to present herself as a lady, and yet act like a man when the timing called for it. He had taught her deception, noting she picked up on it easier than how to throw a shield. That had been a very thin line he had walked when he had taught her that. Each hour he wondered if she would deceive him in one way or another, use his lessons against him. That was what had happened to all those he had known, them turning against mentors, or students turning against them. It was a vicious cycle that the Circle had held for years, and would continue to hold.<p>

She hadn't, thankfully, instead using her lessons for her hedonistic tastes. He had lost quite a bit of silver to her in a game of cards, as her hand was quicker than his eye. And yet he couldn't truly prove that she cheated. An admirable talent that would surely help her in another life.

"Did you take care of our guest, my child?"

"Yes, First Enchanter. The Warden is in his quarters, just as you asked."

"What were your thoughts?"

"He seems like someone worth trusting."

She too had learnt trust and duty. The differences and the similarities. He noticed she had taken that particular lesson to heart. He hadn't quite understood her devotion to duty and trust, as there were times when the two were severely divided. Such a thing was arising, he knew, as she hadn't left his study as fast as he would have thought.

He watched her eyes fall on the books behind him, but said nothing.

"Why are there books on Blood Magic on your desk?"

She was quick to the point, no fooling around unless absolutely necessary.

He explained that it was in their best interest that they were in his study. She shrugged, like she had little care, skipping straight to a conspiracy.

He knew the basics, how Jowan had been having an affair with an initiate by the name of Lily. He had been waiting for such a thing to bubble to the surface, but his apprentice had once again provided him with all the necessary details. He could rely on her for that, as to others in the Tower, she was just a laugh, a pushover, and yet one to trust. She did only come to him with the immediate problems, however. If something was bubbling away, she would let it rise to just below the surface before acting, to make sure that it was as it seemed. One would think this was too late, but she had a habit of throwing _something_ in the way prior to making it public.

He still wasn't too sure if he had taught her that trick himself, or she had picked it up from another time.

"I came straight here after they asked for my word. I want _your_ word that I will not be punished."

The Chantry just lived with the magic, but he saw the way Templars flinched as apprentices ran around. They just dealt with it until some sort of problem presented itself. Then, they would strike and be done with it. Wipe their hands clean as if nothing had gone wrong, but would remember such an event and remind those who lived.

He had taught her it was survival of the fittest with a full nod towards the Chantry. If one were to sit idly by, they would assume that there were plans being made and would strike. If one was active, little thought would be given before a sword met a chest. To stay in between was the key to living inside a world of stone.

"As you are going to act under my orders, I will bear the full punishment."

She seemed pleased, and after much discussion - and her remarks on his cunning - she left.

Ten minutes later she returned with a form in hand. He had signed it when he realised what the initiate was planning, and had warned his apprentice of the basement. How the second door would not open due to wards, but there was another way to the repository behind a worn bookcase through another door to her right. The Sentinels would attack, as they had been made to do, so she should avoid such needless danger where possible. And to not talk to the Tevinter statues where possible, as _pretty_ as they may be.

"Irving, you worry too much."

He ignored her chiding tone. "And, most importantly, do not be the first to give a course of action. Suspicion is what you need to avoid. Acting out will give them time to think."

"Irving, think about who you are talking to."

To anyone else, this may have been rude. But to him, he knew who he was talking to. In a year and half, he had turned the ranting, raging apprentice into a calculating, persuasive mage. An almost spitting image of himself, Wynne had even gone so far as to mention when she had seen the girl in passing. Minus the obvious traits which the mage had carried on from her youth, and several others, she had shown to be like him.

As he stood before Jowan, Lily and the mage, with Greagoir and several Templars, she had admitted freely to deception over Jowan. The slight upward turn to the corner of her lips, narrowed eyes and weight sitting on one leg told all. That she was not ashamed of deceiving friends, that such an action would hold no constraints for her.

He recognised it all. She was a younger version of himself, and he couldn't be more proud.


End file.
